Gold Digger
by Miss Construed
Summary: Sookie thinks she has met the perfect man; question is, is he in it for love or for the cold, hard cash?  I Write The Songs contest entry.


**I Write The Songs. CONTEST ENTRY**

**TITLE: Gold Digger**

**CHARACTERS: Sookie, Eric, Bill**

**DISCLAIMER: All characters belong to Charlaine Harris and Gold Digger is the property of Kanye West. I threw the two together for a rollicking good time.**

**PEN NAME: Miss Construed**

**BETA NAME: pfloogs72**

**VIRGIN WRITER : NO**

**TEASER: Sookie thinks she has met the perfect man; question is, is he in it for love or for the cold, hard cash?**

"We'd like to be your exclusive sponsor," the man in the suit said to the pretty blonde tennis player.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen, let's not get ahead of ourselves," said Amelia Broadway, savvy agent to the stars of the athletic world. "Susannah here certainly has a lot of options out there. Throwing around terms like 'exclusive' seems a bit presumptuous."

"I do not think you will find our offer presumptuous," the suited man said. "I think you will find it to your satisfaction. In fact," he lowered his voice, "we want Susannah as our spokesperson so much, that we are putting this on the table." And, in a move that would not be out of the ordinary on the big screen, the man pushed a piece of paper in Amelia's direction.

Amelia's eyes widened with shock. There were so many zeros; more than she had seen since she'd repped that golfer five years ago, before that scandal of course.

"My, you boys certainly don't mess around, do you?" she asked, putting her game face back on before the men in suits could read her. Amelia was known as the Witch of the West, the only female sports agent on the west coast that was worth a damn. She hadn't gotten where she had (or the commissions she'd earned) by going googly over a few zeros. "Twenty," she said with a nod.

"Fifteen," the man responded.

"Nineteen," Amelia said and quirked her eyebrow. "We're talking about Susannah Stackhouse. America's Darling. She's a commodity. This isn't some one-off Russian tennis player with big tits and shit for brains, though she certainly has the former."

"Seventeen," the man countered.

"Come now Sookie," Amelia said, pushing her chair out. "These men certainly don't know how to play with the kinds of balls we do."

Before Amelia was even fully standing, the man interjected. "Eighteen five. It's my final offer."

A smile spread across Amelia's feline-like features as she sat back down. "That's more like it. Sookie?" she said, turning towards the commodity in question.

Sookie, completely out of her element, smiled and nodded. For a small town girl plucked from the relative shelter of the LSU tennis team, this world was as foreign to her as if she was thrown onto the gridirons on any given Sunday. Even after a full year on the tour, she couldn't tell her head from a hole in the ground when it came to all this sponsorship stuff, which was why she'd hired Amelia Broadway as her agent. Amelia was well known in the sporting world for doing right by her clients, and she'd quickly become one of Sookie's good friends.

"Excellent. Gentlemen," Amelia said, raising her glass of champagne. "I'd say we have a deal. Here's to Susannah Stackhouse, the new face of WOTD."

...

Susannah Stackhouse, or "The Rookie Sookie" as she was being called on the USTA tour, was everything a company could want in their spokesperson. She was young, beautiful and blonde. And, more importantly, she was intriguing. No one knew much about her, other than that she showed up in short skirts and wiped the court clean with her opponent. In her first year on the tour, she'd climbed the ranks and even won the French Open, seemingly from nowhere, leaving the court to return to obscurity.

There was constant speculation about her in the media. Despite living in LA, she was never seen out at the clubs with the other celebrities, nor was she rumored to be dating anyone. She kept to herself, which only made her more appealing to those around her. Paparazzi followed her wherever she went, trying to get that elusive picture that would get under the surface of Sookie to no avail.

She had stayed clear of sponsorships her first year on the tour. First, because as Amelia said, no one is willing to pay an up and comer the type of money proven talent can get, regardless of how big her rack may or may not be (and it was more of a may in Sookie's case); and second, because Sookie was one of those rare few celebrity athletes who refused to peddle goods that she didn't believe in.

It was a stroke of good fortune when WOTD approached Amelia for Sookie. What had started out as a relatively small enterprise of daily word calendars had quickly grown into a massive global conglomerate under the leadership Pam Ravenscroft had brought the company three years ago. They'd moved from day-by-day calendars (which Sookie was a fan of) into everything related to paper and cloth – you name it, they made it. It had been a test when they expanded into word of the day napkins, and after that market had exploded into paper towels and even toilet paper, they went bigger; WOTD was the up and coming sport's brand, quickly taking over everything from sports towels to jerseys, and were in the process of launching a line of tennis dresses, with requisite words and definitions on each pleat of the tiny skirts. Sookie was a natural choice for their new product line, as well as becoming the face for the stable of other WOTD athletic products.

Not seven days after the ink was dry on the $18.5 million contract did Sookie find herself at the photo shoot that would change her life even more so than the signing of that contract.

"Amelia," Sookie whined as the stylist pulled her blonde hair into a tight knot at the back of her head, "you know how much I hate these things. Why did you get me roped into this?"

Amelia responded, crossing her arms over her chest. "Sookie, you knew this was part of the deal when they forked over all that cash to get you as their spokesperson. Come on," she said, patting her client on her knee, "it will be painless. One photo shoot and then you don't have to do anything else until the big launch party in August."

Sookie groaned and closed her eyes. Truth be told, she hated having her picture taken, and always had. She knew that the life she'd chosen meant that she would be photographed, but she'd thought that would have stayed on the court. Unfortunately, it had followed her around when she was running her errands, which made her hate it all the more. The thought of posing pretty for her face to be plastered on the back of some magazine was enough to drive her insane. Well, it would have driven her insane if it didn't come with the contract. Nearly nineteen million dollars was enough to get her to do just about anything.

"Fine," Sookie said, and shut her eyes as the makeup artist came at her like Edward Scissorhands – or maybe more aptly, Edward Eyeshadowhands.

Forty minutes of brushing, plucking and puckering later, Sookie opened her eyes to see an unfamiliar sight. She was a lip-gloss and mascara girl at best, and besides that trip to the VESPYs last year where she had been a presenter, she'd never worn more makeup in her life. The makeup artist had certainly caked it on, but somehow Sookie thought she managed to still look like herself; albeit an incredibly more attractive version of herself.

She was pulled out of her narcissistic assessment by a knock on the door. Amelia managed to pry herself away from her Blackberry long enough to grant admittance, and Sookie spied around the shocking red hair of the makeup artist in time to see a handsome man pop his head in the open doorframe.

"How are you ladies doing in the beauty salon here?" he asked with a chuckle. His voice was deep, with a familiar twang that tugged at Sookie's heart. He sounded like her brother Jason, though she'd never felt her heart flutter around Jason like she did when the man walked in to the room and Sookie got her first good glimpse of him. She liked everything she saw from the top of his brown hair, to the tips of his cowboy boot clad feet, and the baby Louis Vuitton camera case under his underarm was just an added bonus.

"Miss Stackhouse," he said as he framed her face with his hands, "you are breathtaking."

"Thank you." She felt a giggle before she could stop herself, so swept away was she by the memories of the South. "Mr…?"

"Compton," he said, stepping forward and offering her his hand, "William Compton."

Of course she'd heard of William Compton. He was famous the world over for his photographs, not to mention his liaisons with the women he photographed. Last she knew, William Compton had been seen getting cozy in Fiji with the latest Victoria's Secret model, Felicia Busta. Of course, Felicia had been mysteriously absent from the runway show. Sookie may have hated being the subject of such tabloids, but that didn't mean she didn't read them.

"I wanted to drop in and introduce myself," he said, taking Sookie's hand from its perch on the arm of the director's chair and bringing it up to his lips. "I do like to know my subjects before I shoot them. It's a rather intimate thing, don't you think?"

She made a garbled noise of assent that was quickly followed by a giggle as Bill's hand lingered on hers.

Sookie felt a shiver go down her spine at his question, and tried to avoid squirming in her chair to no avail. She couldn't remember the last time she had had this type of reaction to a man. Sure when she was fifteen and spent her time under Gran's strict Christian roof or on the tennis court, that was one thing, but she'd been initiated into the world of dating for what seemed like forever. True, she hadn't dated much at all lately, especially since she entered the tour. She'd had that brief fling last year with Alcide Herveaux after the French Open, which had somehow managed to stay under the radar despite nearly a month of being together. Of course, when two people partook in the activities she and Alcide had, there was very little need to leave the house.

But something about Bill Compton set her heart aflutter. And when the likes of Bill Compton turned on his charm, it would take a steely resolve not to be affected by it.

"Though," Bill continued, " I do not think I will have trouble shooting a vision such as yourself."

"I don't know about that," she said, with charming self-deprecation. "I'm not too comfortable getting my photo taken. And this is the first ad I've ever done."

"Well, Miss Stackhouse. Sookie. Do you mind if I call you Sookie?" She shook her head. "I am an expert at these things. And you? I can tell you rock; I can tell by your charms that you're going to be perfect. Just perfect."

The photo shoot went better than Sookie had imagined. She'd begun to associate photographer's flashes with harassment, but she learned quickly that was not the case when the photographer was Bill Compton. He put her at ease the minute she stepped onto set, and by the end of the session, she felt rather like she'd been through an intense make out session than just standing around getting her picture taken.

She was walking back to her dressing room in a daze when she ran into a very large, rather incredibly muscular man. If she had been paying attention, she may have seen him there, as he had been for the last five minutes, but instead she only registered his presence when her face was planted firmly between his shoulder blades.

"Unf," was the noise she made, though it was muffled in the black fabric covering his back. The man in question quickly spun around and grabbed her elbow as she began to fall rather ungracefully to the floor. She heard a clanging noise as if something was dropped, but did not see what it was. When she looked up to meet the eyes of the man who had saved her from falling like a tennis ball (though decidedly less bouncy) to the ground, her first thought was that they were the exact shade of hers, just as his hair was the same blond that was currently bound tightly on her head.

"Oh, I didn't see you there," she stated, rather obviously.

"It's quite alright," he said, with a resonating chuckle. "Though I will say that you are the first person to not notice me in a very long time." He laughed at her frown and continued. "I'm rather tall, see?"

And he was. He dwarfed her 5'6" frame by at least ten inches, and his shoulders had to be twice as wide as her own.

"Oh," she said, then silently reprimanded herself for her lack of vocabulary. You would think reading a Word of the Day calendar every day for the last ten years would give her more verbal ammunition than "oh", but it was quickly apparent that being the spokesperson didn't mean much when confronted with tall blond goodness. If she thought Bill Compton made her stomach have butterflies, this man was like a herd of elephants trampling her insides.

When she managed to right herself, she continued. "Thank you," she said with a smile. "I mean, for catching me."

"It was my pleasure," he returned, his last word huskier than the first three. His eyes felt like they were boring into hers, and she was mesmerized by the twinkle she saw there. "We wouldn't want someone in your profession getting a wrist injury from something as innocuous as a fall."

She was startled when his hand moved from her elbow further up her arm. She felt sensations in the pit of her stomach as his eyes darted to her lips.

When he was certain that she was able to stand on her own two feet, he bent down to pick up a long wooden stick – the source of the clanging noise she'd heard – and righted himself. Her eyes trailed down to the end of the stick to see that he wasn't some Viking ninja practicing martial arts, but rather someone who was mopping the floor.

"Oh!" she said, feeling embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt you. I'm sure you've got to get back to work," she added, nodding towards the mop in his hand.

"What?" he interrupted. His eyes widened with surprise before his chest rumbled with a chuckle. "This isn't my-"

"Sookie!" Bill's familiar twang called out from behind her. Before she could stick her foot in her mouth again with this incredibly attractive janitor – ahem, custodial engineer – she spun around and saw Bill's handsome visage as he approached her.

"Hello Bill," she said with a smile, doing her best to ignore the man behind her.

"I was hoping to catch you before you got too far," he said. "I hope I didn't interrupt anything," he continued, looking at the blond man over her shoulder.

"What?" she asked. "Oh, no. Of course not. I wasn't paying attention and I ran into –" she frowned, looking over her shoulder at the man she hadn't introduced herself to.

"Eric," he supplied, quirking one corner of his mouth up into a lopsided smile that made Sookie feel a bit weak in the knees.

"Yes," Bill said, pulling her attention back to him. He looked over Sookie's shoulder and dismissed Eric with a shrug as he reached his hand towards Sookie. "Well, I'm sure that the janitor needs to get back to his job."

"I'm not a –"

"Of course!" Sookie interjected, feeling uncomfortable at the situation. She had, after all, interrupted Eric from his work. And no matter how much she would have liked to sit around and stare at him while he mopped the floor – shirtless perhaps - she had spent plenty of time mopping up floors in the summer at Merlotte's in high school and knew what a thankless job it was. She turned and flashed Eric a smile. "Sorry again, Eric," she said, then took Bill's offered hand before Eric could say anything more.

"You needed me?" Sookie asked as Bill led her down the hallway towards the dressing room.

He flashed her a truly wicked smile. "You could say that."

She was no fool. She knew what was coming next, but that certainly didn't stop her from responding coyly. "What for?"

"I was hoping that you would let me take you out to dinner. A thank you for giving me such an easy shoot?"

"Shouldn't I be the one taking you to dinner?" she asked with a smirk. "You are, after all, responsible for making me look good."

"Oh, I can't take credit for that," he answered with a shrug, and took a step closer to her. "I can hardly improve on perfection." He reached out and fingered the collar of her tennis dress, right where it said "Love".

They were photographed that night, leaving the trendy West Hollywood dining establishment hand in hand. And so began, what the tabloids were soon calling the whirlwind romance between the Rookie Sookie and her photographer beau.

Bill acted the part of the gentleman, seeing her to her door and leaving her with a chaste goodnight kiss. Or, at least, he did the first night. By the third date, he left her panting for more on the floor of her living room, and by the fifth it was mutually decided that clothes were far too overrated. Of course, they weren't able to stay holed up forever. Despite Sookie's protests, and to her coach's dismay, she found herself going out with Bill nearly every night, and it seemed the paparazzi followed them wherever they went.

Sookie's publicist ate up the attention, as did the execs at WOTD. Well, all but one of them, one who Sookie had not had the fortune to meet. He seemed to think her image was being tarnished, and that the girl next door was quickly being replaced by the typical young Hollywood type.

Sookie, frankly, sided with the unseen exec. She hated being dragged to party after party, but as long as she kept performing the way she did on the tennis court, she didn't feel right depriving Bill of something he truly enjoyed.

The summer tennis season was in full swing at the two month mark of their love affair – and it was a love affair – they had exchanged the sentiment on their one month anniversary. Bill had all but moved into Sookie's rambling Calabasas home, and into the second month, Sookie was on cloud nine. She had never been with someone as attentive as Bill; true, he did get a little overly affectionate when they were out, which had led to some rather compromising photographs, but she figured that was just his upbringing.

She could easily forgive him the embarrassment of seeing her picture splashed on Just Jared considering the gestures he made. He was romantic and thoughtful – he sent flowers to her hotel room on their two month anniversary, which happened to coincide with the French Open, with a note telling her how much he loved her. And when she had returned with the title, he had spent two consecutive days showing her exactly how much he missed her.

Sure things began to change, but that was to be expected after the initial honeymoon phase. They had their first real argument on a shopping trip, when Sookie initially refused to buy Bill a pair of Gucci loafers. Sookie, being the sweet and loving girl that she was, eventually caved and wrote the fight off to their difficult schedules - she was at the court from morning to night in preparation for Wimbledon, and when she did have the opportunity to take a few days off, Bill had been at a photo shoot in the Caymans. That first argument was just the tip of the iceberg in the weeks leading up to Wimbledon; Bill was quick to get upset about something - usually money or attention - but they always made up, and Sookie always forgave him.

One week before they were set to head to the Caribbean – a stop on Sookie's way to London - they received an invitation to the fifth birthday party of her Godson, Tara and JB's son Hoyt. The party was set the first week of the tournament, and knowing she was unable to attend, Bill had offered to go in her place.

Sookie had always been generous, but with the new contract with WOTD, she felt the need to downright spoil Hoyt on this monumental birthday. She had planned to go shopping herself, but when she was called to London a week early by her coach, she had to leave Bill to do the shopping.

"Get him something special," she said, tucking into Bill's side the morning of her departure. "I let Mr. Cataliades know to give you whatever you need for Hoyt's birthday." Mr. Cataliades was Sookie's money manager, something she hadn't needed before signing the WOTD contract, but was now unsure what she'd do without him.

"What I need is you here," Bill said, grabbing Sookie around the waist and pulling her against his hard body. "I can't believe you have to leave early. What will I tell Lorena Usher when I show up alone to her party?"

"I'm sure you'll come up with something," Sookie said, placing a chaste kiss on his forehead. "You always do."

"I don't like when you leave me," he said, almost petulantly. "We were supposed to have a nice holiday before you jetted off to London."

"I don't either," she responded. "You could always skip out on the party and come to London with me," she added hopefully.

"You know I can't Pookie Bear," he said, calling her by the obnoxious moniker that he insisted upon. "I've got to go to Barbados on Tuesday for the swimsuit catalog shoot. And that party is on Wednesday. You know I can't miss Lorena's party."

Sookie bit her lower lip to stop herself from frowning and nodded. "Of course, Bill." She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up, unashamed of her nakedness in front of her boyfriend. "I've got to get in the shower. Coach Norris will be here to pick me up shortly."

"When are you going to get rid of him?" Bill asked, propping himself up on his elbows and letting the sheet pool about his waist.

"Who?" she asked, continuing her journey to the bathroom.

"That lecherous coach of yours."

She stopped at his words and spun around, doing her best not to roll her eyes. This was at least the fifteenth time Bill had raised the subject of her long-term coach. "Cal is not lecherous."

"Don't tell me you think he doesn't want to sleep with you Sookie. I see the way he watches you. And the way he studies those tapes of you is creepy."

"It's called coaching," she said, with a roll of her eyes. She was really starting to get sick of Bill's constant need for reassurance that she wasn't going to run off with someone, but the way he looked sitting there in the bed, and the memories of the night before made her shrug off her annoyance. "Besides, what do you possibly have to be worried about? You're the one I'm sleeping with. You're the one I love."

"Of course," he said, shaking his head. "I just don't like the thought of you traveling with another man."

"Don't be silly, Bill," she responded. "You have nothing to worry about."

Only, it turns out, he did. For, in this case, absence did not make the heart grow fonder.

…

Amelia had scheduled a dinner with some executives from WOTD on Sookie's third night in London. She had just barely gotten over her jetlag and had to rush back from her practice session to shower and be presentable for dinner. It would be her first face to face meeting with Pam Ravenscroft, and God only knew who else was going to be there.

Sookie dressed with care, putting on a red wrap dress that she'd picked up the week before at Barney's. She wasn't much of a clothes horse, or at least hadn't been prior to dating Bill. She'd actually resisted Bill's insistence that she expand her wardrobe at first, but changed her mind after being caught twice in the same dress and was chastised on national television for it. Bill had signed her up with a personal shopper, and the rest, as they say, was history.

She thought it was a bit of a waste of money, buying all these designer labels, but Bill had insisted it was important for her image; if Bill knew how to do something other than take photographs, it was present himself in the press and spend money, especially when it wasn't his own. That was another sticking point in their relationship, but being a progressive girl, Sookie tried not to care that she paid for most things; she was, after all, the breadwinner of the two.

"You look sinful in that dress, Sookie," Amelia said when Sookie met her in the lobby of their luxury hotel.

"Thanks Amelia," Sookie said, doing a quick twirl. "It's not too much, is it?" When Amelia shook her head, Sookie continued. "Bill didn't want me to bring it with me."

"I don't blame him. I wouldn't want to let you out of my sight looking like that. Where is that bastard anyway?" Amelia had never been too keen on Sookie's relationship with Bill, and the stories Sookie had relayed about their recent fights hadn't helped her opinion.

"Don't call him that," Sookie chided, pulling her wrap tightly against her body. Despite beginning to think that about him herself, she still did not like to hear it from others.

"You know I think he's using you, Sookie," Amelia said, for what must've been the tenth time. "He's got that ambitious look in his eyes whenever he sees a dollar sign."

"He's my boyfriend, Amelia," Sookie groaned.

"Fine," Amelia said, giving an exasperated sigh. "Where is he? I thought he was coming with you."

"He couldn't," Sookie said, with a slight frown. "He had that photo shoot yesterday and then of course Lorena is throwing her annual party that she invited us to."

"Lorena?" Amelia asked, following Sookie's lead out the front doors of the hotel to the waiting car.

"Usher," Sookie said as she climbed into the black hired car. "Lorena Usher, the underwear model."

"_That _Lorena?" Amelia asked with shock, following her in. "And you let him go alone?"

"How many Lorenas do you know?" Sookie asked, with a roll of her eyes. "And why wouldn't I let him go?"

"Because Sookie," Amelia said, leaning back in her seat. "Everyone knows Bill Compton used to fuck with Lorena Usher. Or, rather, used to fuck her," she added. Amelia paused for a moment, biting her lower lip. "Look, I didn't want to tell you this tonight…"

"Didn't want to tell me what?" Sookie asked, looking suspiciously at her friend and agent.

"I heard something about Bill yesterday. Something I don't think you're going to like. I was going to wait until after the tournament, but…"

"Just tell me," Sookie said, trying not to look as anxious as she felt.

"Well…" Amelia started. "I was talking to my friend Claudine Crane. She's one of the Angels that Bill works with occasionally, and, well… she brought up Felicia Busta. Apparently she had a baby two months ago, and Claudine is sure that it's Bill's."

Sookie gasped. She knew that Bill had a past. She had one herself, but she had always been honest with Bill. He had never mentioned having a relationship with Lorena, and he certainly hadn't mentioned becoming a baby daddy.

"I'm sure she's mistaken."

"Maybe," Amelia responded. "I just thought you should know."

"Well," Sookie said, trying to sound adamant despite her uncertainty. He had acted rather weird when she found the invitation from Lorena, and he never ever spoke of his time with Felicia. It did seem a bit fishy. "I don't care what anyone says. I still love him."

"Of course you do," Amelia said. "I don't mean to upset you Sookie."

Sookie slunk back in the plush seat and tried to process the information that Amelia had told her. What if Amelia's information was true? What if Bill really did have a baby and hadn't told her about it? With all that he'd shared about himself, you would think that something like that would come up, wouldn't it? Only, Sookie had a nagging feeling that it could be true. Bill always had avoided the subject of Felicia. She had assumed that it was because it had been a fling, but what if it had been more? And what kind of person did that make Bill if he got her pregnant and took off?

Bill had been acting strangely ever since she returned from the French Open; he was more standoffish when they were in private - they hadn't had sex more than four times in an entire month – but he was overly affectionate whenever they were out. She knew that this time of the year was incredibly busy for both of them, and had written off the lack of attention in the bedroom to that. Only, what if she had been wrong?

Sookie shook her head clear. It wouldn't do to dwell on the possibility of Bill's dalliances with underwear models when she was on her way to an important meeting. She had built a good working relationship with WOTD; the advertising campaign was debuting right after Wimbledon, and this meeting was about the launch as much as anything else. She had to focus herself, just as if she was on the tennis court.

"Who all is going to be at this meeting?" she asked, sitting upright and changing the subject.

"Pam, of course," Amelia said, switching conversations without missing a beat. "And Clancy and Chow, both of whom you met at the negotiations. And then Eric Northman will be there."

Northman was a familiar name, as he was the executive who questioned her change in public perception after she began to date Bill. He was an elusive figure, working primarily with WOTD's European operations, but he had an influential voice with the board and was a key person to keep happy. Bill, of course, was not a fan of Northman. Somehow he had caught wind of Northman's less than stellar opinion of their relationship, and his exact words had been to "fuck him and the horse he rode in on."

The restaurant was small and exclusive, located in a quiet corner of Kensington. When Sookie and Amelia arrived, they were ushered into a private room near the back and seated at a table for six. A silent waiter came in and immediately filled their glasses with champagne before retreating as silently as he arrived. Sookie pushed hers away from her plate; she wasn't much a drinker normally, and never drank this close to an important event. That didn't stop Amelia from drinking her own glass and then downing Sookie's.

At precisely seven pm, the doors opened to reveal a stunningly beautiful blonde woman, flanked on either side by Clancy and Chow. A smile broke out on the woman's face when she met Sookie's eyes.

"Ah, I finally get to meet the Rookie Sookie," she said, in a slightly accented, honeyed voice.

"Ms. Ravenscroft," Sookie said, standing from her chair awkwardly.

Pam quickly closed the gap between them and greeted her with a friendly air kiss, her hands lingering on Sookie's. "What a pleasure it is to finally see you in person. You are lovelier than I thought." Sookie wasn't sure if she was imagining things, but she thought she saw Pam's eyes dip to the low neckline of her dress. "Yes, quite lovely indeed."

"Thank you, Ms. Ravenscroft."

"Pam," Pam insisted, finally letting go of Sookie's hands. "You must call me Pam."

"Alright," Sookie said with a warm smile. "Pam."

"Much better," Pam replied, taking the seat next to Sookie that Amelia had been occupying. "Do sit next to me, Ms. Broadway. And Sookie, leave the seat next to you open for our errant Mr. Northman. I know he is keen to meet you as well. He shall be here shortly."

Sookie greeted Chow and Clancy with the warm friendliness she was revered for. They were Pam's worker bees, the two that she appeared to trust to get everything accomplished.

Pam was going over the details for the launch party when Sookie heard the door behind her open.

"Sorry I'm late," a deep voice said. "My flight from Stockholm was delayed." Sookie turned in her chair, and thought she may need to pick her chin up off the floor when she saw the man standing in the doorway.

"It's about time, Eric," Pam said, shaking her head in his direction. "We've already finished one bottle of champagne."

"My apologies," he responded, never taking his eyes away from Sookie's.

_Mr. Northman was Eric the hot janitor?_ Sookie thought wildly. How was that even possible? She must be imagining things.

"Ms. Stackhouse," he said, walking over and reaching his hands in her direction. She felt herself being pulled up from her chair, and made a mewling sound when he leaned down and brushed his lips against her cheek. She was definitely still jetlagged.

"Do sit down, Eric," Pam said, rolling her eyes in his direction. "You can stare at her all you'd like, but I'm starving and you know they won't bring the food out until everyone is seated."

And sure enough, as soon as Eric sat down, the silent waiter returned with silver domed plates in tow. The restaurant was famous for its chef's menu – the only option available actually – and Sookie was thankful for the interruption to process the realization that Eric was the farthest thing possible from what she had imagined.

"It's good to see you again, Sookie," Eric said quietly, leaning in so only she would hear.

"I-" Sookie started. "Um. Hello there Mr. Northman." She felt utterly confused. How was it possible that the man holding a mop was actually an executive?

"Eric. Surprised to see me?" he asked, with a quirk of his eyebrow.

"Just a little," she answered honestly. "I don't really know what to say."

Eric smiled ruefully and took a sip of his champagne. "I tried to explain that night," he started with a shrug. "But you didn't give me a chance."

"I assumed that… well, you were holding the mop, and…"

"One week I'm mopping floors…next week it's the fries?" he teased. "No, nothing quite like that. I was there to oversee the shoot, and got there late. I was trying to catch you on your way back to the dressing room and was moving the mop out of the way when you came along. You know what they say about assumptions."

"Yeah," Sookie said, dumbfounded. Her assumption certainly had made an ass out of her. _Way to impress the big wigs with your vocabulary there buckoo._

"I was hoping we'd get a chance to meet properly before this, but with my schedule and yours, it has been impossible. You've been a busy girl," he chastised.

"Um…" Language skills were eluding her. She felt the same attraction she'd felt that first meeting, when she had imagined him mopping half naked. Now that she knew who he was, she felt ridiculous. She should absolutely not be attracted to an executive at the company she represented. This was not a movie set, where you were free to be willy nilly with whomever you chose. She had a three year contract with this company; it wouldn't do to go messing it up less than six months in. Plus, she was in a relationship; a loving, albeit currently strained relationship; with a man Eric Northman didn't approve of.

"Still with Compton?" he asked, looking around the room. Sookie nodded. "Pity," he said, reaching once again for his champagne glass.

Sookie wasn't sure what to make of that, and didn't get a chance to ask, as Pam demanded her attention. Sookie felt Eric's eyes on her for the next hour as Pam held court over her subjects, but refused to meet his gaze. Only when Pam and Amelia excused themselves to use the ladies room did Sookie turn back to face Eric.

"Are you in town for Wimbledon?"

"I'm in town for you," he said, his voice low and gravelly, doing deliciously wicked things to Sookie's belly. "To meet you properly, that is."

"That seems a bit excessive, making a trip to London for me," Sookie said, unsure of what the appropriate response to a tall, blond godlike figure saying something like that, even if he wasn't someone you had to impress for your job.

"Not particularly," he responded with a shrug. "You're a large investment for WOTD. A worthy investment so far," he added with a smirk. "But I am interested in seeing how else you could be beneficial. To the company, that is," he added after a moment.

"Eric's your biggest fan," Clancy said, with an edge in his voice that Sookie hadn't heard before. She looked up sharply to see a look of disapproval on the otherwise jovial face of Clancy.

Sookie looked back over her shoulder to see Eric smiling at Clancy. "I should hope that distinction lays with her boyfriend, lucky bastard that he is."

Clancy huffed and turned back to Chow, who was surreptitiously avoiding eye contact with either Sookie or Eric.

"Ignore him," Eric said, much closer to Sookie's ear than she had expected. "He's jealous."

"Of me?" Sookie asked, turning her head and stopping when she realized that Eric had not moved. Their mouths were inches apart.

"Mmm," Eric assented, then sat back when Pam and Amelia re-entered the room.

"Amelia and I thought we should go out and continue the celebration," Pam declared, eyeing the proximity of Eric's chair to Sookie's.

"I shouldn't," Sookie immediately started. "I've got practice tomorrow, and my first match on Saturday."

"I told you she wouldn't come," Amelia said. "Not that I blame her. This is a big deal, though she could wipe Maudette Pickens clean on the court even if she was hung-over."

"Amelia!" Sookie shrieked. For being her agent, she wasn't acting like one.

"Come on," Eric said, lifting his hand and brushing his fingers against Sookie's bare shoulder. "One drink and then I'll take you back to your hotel myself."

Sookie wasn't sure what sounded like a worse idea – staying out to the wee hours of the morning as she knew Amelia was wont to do, or agreeing to let someone like Eric Northman take her home.

"I insist," Pam said, sounding authoritative. "I'm sure Eric will make it his top priority to get you into bed," Pam added, with a smirk in Eric's direction. "Won't you Eric?"

"Of course," he responded, sounding much more innocent than he looked.

With one look back in Eric's direction, Sookie closed her eyes and reminded herself that it wouldn't do to be attracted to him. He was her boss, and she was dating Bill. She frowned at the thought of Bill and what Amelia had told her about him.

"Fine," she said. "One drink."

…

The club was crowded when they arrived, though they were ushered back to a private VIP section which offered them a little more room to move. Clancy and Chow had bowed out of continuing the celebration when they had left the restaurant, using an early flight back to the states as an excuse, leaving the foursome of Pam, Amelia, Sookie and Eric to continue on.

Pam and Amelia disappeared shortly after arrival, giving no excuses as they stood up and headed through an unmarked black doorway.

"I guess that leaves just the two of us," Eric said, leaning into Sookie's ear so that she could hear him over the loud music.

"I guess so," Sookie responded, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. She was kicking herself for her hasty decision to come out. If Bill found out she was out at a club with a man alone, he would flip out, no matter who the man in question was. She had no proof that Bill was anything that Amelia had said; and it was rash to judge him based on gossip.

"Can I get you a drink?" Eric offered, eyeing the waitress in the tiny black skirt as she walked towards their table.

"I'll take a cranberry juice," Sookie responded. When Eric's eyebrow lifted in question, Sookie continued. "I don't drink this close to a match."

"Smart," he responded, turning to give the waitress the order of cranberry juice and local ale. "But, let's say you were to drink, what would you pick?" he asked, leaning back against the cushions of the couch and throwing his arm over the seat behind her.

"I'm not much of a drinker, truth be told," she responded, looking straight ahead.

"I find that hard to believe," he said, which got her attention.

She looked over at him and frowned. "Why would you say that?"

"You are always out and about with that boyfriend of yours," he responded with a shrug. "Always leaving bars and clubs. It would only be natural to assume you drink."

"Oh," she said, shifting herself to face him without touching him. "I suppose so, but you said it yourself about assumptions." She felt a small strike of victory when he smirked and nodded. "But truly, going out; partying? It's not really my thing. It's Bill's scene really. I only go because he does."

"Mmmm," Eric said, taking his drink from the waitress without looking in her direction. "What, then, do you like to do?"

"Play tennis?" she joked, taking the cranberry juice from the waitress' hand.

"Of course," he responded. "Besides that. What would you be doing if you weren't going out to clubs with your boyfriend?"

"Oh," Sookie frowned. "Well… I suppose I'd be at home. I like to cook," she said after a moment. "And read. I like to read."

"So then, pray tell, how do you end up always out?"

She shrugged and took a drink of her cranberry juice. "Bill gets invited to these things. And it's good publicity. Even Amelia thinks so, and she hates Bill." Sookie gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. "I shouldn't tell you that."

"Why not?" Eric asked, sitting forward in his chair.

"Because I hardly know you," she reasoned. "And I get the distinct feeling you don't like Bill much yourself."

He shrugged. "You could do better."

"I don't see why you care what I do in my personal life."

"You don't?" he asked, quirking his mouth into a smile when she shook her head. "I can tell you I am deeply interested in your personal life." He had leaned in so close that she could smell his cologne. "Professionally," he added, almost as an afterthought.

"Oh," she nodded, feeling oddly disappointed, then kicking herself silently for doing so. "Yes, well I suppose I am your brand."

"Come now," he chastised, taking a drink of his beer. "You are far more than a brand to us. We like to think of everyone that works at or for WOTD as family. Though," his voice dropped, along with his eyes, "more like family through marriage. I'd hate for you to think of me like a brother."

She felt herself start to blush, but managed to squash it down before she turned as red as the cranberry juice in her hand.

"I've only got one brother," she said, "and that is more than enough for me."

"Good to hear it," Eric replied, shifting imperceptibly closer.

She nearly choked on her cranberry juice when she felt his leg brush up against hers. "Are you," she started nervously, "in town for very long?"

"In and out," he answered with a shrug. "I will be here for finals, since you are sure to be there."

"I don't know about that," she said, with a slight frown. "There are a lot of good players here."

"I have faith in you Sookie Stackhouse," he said. "And when you win that title, I reserve the first right to take you to a celebratory dinner before you fly back to the States and that boyfriend of yours. Or, I should say, we at WOTD reserve that right."

Despite her better judgment, she agreed to just that. They were, after all, the ones that wrote the paycheck. Besides, her chances of winning, while good, were hardly worth worrying over something as simple as a business dinner.

…

Sure enough, that first Saturday of July found Sookie on center court for her chance at the title. She'd successfully gotten through six opponents on the famous green before finding herself face to face with her rival in the tennis world, the Australian Open champion, Debbie Pelt. Sookie had faced her more times than she could remember, and they were fairly evenly matched on your average day. But this was not your average day. Sookie had woken up with a special spring in her step, and a champion's attitude in her heart. She faced Debbie's lightning fast serve without batting an eyelash, and one hundred and four minutes after stepping onto center court, Sookie found herself being presented the infamous Wimbledon trophy.

The remainder of the afternoon was nothing but a daze of press junkets and congratulatory calls. Of course, Amelia had been there to witness, as had Pam and Eric, all of whom had offered their congratulations in person. She'd spoken to practically everyone she knew; everyone but Bill, who hadn't called her, and hadn't answered when she tried to call him once she finally made it back to her hotel room.

She lay down on the white bed that dominated the massive hotel room and stared up at the ceiling. She hadn't talked to him in five days, despite attempts to call him every night, and the seed of doubt that Amelia had planted had grown into a full blown doubt forest.

Her phone rang not five minutes after she left a message for him; she hoped it was Bill calling back, but of course it wasn't.

"Hello?" she asked, answering the unfamiliar number.

"Sookie Stackhouse," the deep, accented and incredibly familiar voice replied lazily.

"Hello Eric," she responded, sitting upright. Somehow it seemed wrong to be laying in bed talking to a man she had inappropriate dreams about.

"I didn't get a chance to congratulate you personally."

"Sure you did."

"In front of all of those people doesn't count," he countered. "Besides, you did say I had the first rights to a congratulatory dinner."

"I said WOTD had first rights," she responded, unable to stop the smile from crossing her face.

"Semantics. Can you be ready in an hour?"

She looked over at the bed that was calling to her and shrugged. She could either sit in her room and wallow in self pity about her boyfriend, or she could go out and celebrate her victory. It wasn't a hard choice.

Eric had reserved a private table at one of London's exclusive restaurants, and acted ever the part of the gentleman throughout the meal. He kept the topics professional, discussing upcoming appearances and photo shoots. Sookie found herself growing more comfortable around the man, despite how incredibly nervous his very presence made her, and by the time they came around with dessert, she felt like she was sharing a meal with an old friend.

"Are you still on your no drinking rule?" he asked, taking a bottle of chilled champagne from its bucket.

"What?" she asked, then shook her head. "Oh, I suppose I can have a celebratory drink or two."

"You did win Wimbledon today after all," he said with a wink, before filling up her champagne flute. "To you!" he toasted.

One glass of champagne turned into four, and any restraint Sookie may have felt about meeting up with Pam and Amelia at a club was quickly erased.

Sookie was treated like royalty from the minute they crossed the threshold of the club, until the minute she stumbled out the front door, a few drinks worse for the wear. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had so much fun; after her third gin and tonic, she'd let Amelia and Pam drag her out to the dance floor, and after her fifth, she'd let Eric do the same. Sookie loved to dance, though she hadn't done so in months after Bill had told her that dancing was vulgar.

The night air was balmy when it hit her slick skin, and she wrapped her arms tightly around herself and concentrated on following Amelia and Pam as they stumbled back to the hotel ahead of her.

"You okay?" Eric asked, reaching out and placing a hand on her bare arm.

She looked over and slowly blinked in his direction, squinting her eyes to stop the double vision she had going on.

"I think so," she said at the exact same time she tripped over her wedge heels and went stumbling face forward towards the ground.

She heard Eric chuckle before she felt his strong hands grip her arms and keep her upright. "Whoa there," he said, looking down at her with a smile.

She looked up at him, feeling awkward at the way his hands sent warmth throughout her body, and opened her mouth to thank him just as she saw a burst of light out of the corner of her eye. She looked over and was blinded by what seemed like thousands of lights.

"Shit," Eric mumbled, turning her away from the commotion.

"Is that?" she asked breathlessly as Eric guided her quickly down the street towards their hotel.

"Paparazzi?" Eric asked. "Yeah."

"Shit," Sookie groaned.

…

Sookie was barely through the door of her Calabasas home when Bill confronted her, with a rather compromising looking picture of Eric with his arms around Sookie. Taken out of context like it had been, it didn't look like he was catching her from falling, so much as leaning in to kiss her. She'd seen the picture already, and had dreaded this moment.

"What is this?" he asked, throwing the paper at her.

"Hello to you too," she responded, setting her suitcase down with a thunk.

"What, I repeat, is that?" Bill replied.

"It's a newspaper."

"It's a picture of you with another man is what it is!" Bill yelled.

"It's a picture of me not falling on my face," Sookie said defiantly. She was tired, and jetlagged, and a little bit hung over still. "I tripped as I was leaving with the WOTD folks. They took me out for a celebratory drink."

"I'm sure that's not all this one took you out for," Bill leered.

"Bill," Sookie said, after counting to ten. "It was nothing. Completely innocent." Or, at least, it had been innocent in person; maybe not so innocent in her dreams last night.

"You don't look innocent in that black dress, Sookie."

She rolled her eyes. "My clothing hardly makes me guilty. Besides, you picked out that dress. The day you got mad at me and made me buy you the Gucci loafers if I recall."

"I didn't expect you to wear it out with another man. And why didn't you tell me the executives that were in town were men?"

"Because," she said, pushing past him, "it doesn't matter if they are aliens. They're executives at the company that pays me to wear their product. Whether it's Pam Ravenscroft or Eric Northman I'm out with, it doesn't matter."

Bill sputtered behind her. "Eric Northman?" he growled. "Is that who that is?"

Sookie spun around and crossed her arms over her chest. "Yes, Eric Northman."

"The same Eric Northman who doesn't like that you're dating me?"

"He never said he didn't like that I was dating you." Or, at least, hadn't as far as Bill knew. "He is just worried about tarnishing the brand."

"And I," Bill placed a hand on his chest, "am a tarnish to the WOTD brand?"

"Bill," Sookie groaned, "do we really have to get into this? I'm tired and want to go to sleep."

"You haven't seen me in three weeks and you want to go to sleep?"

Sookie groaned and opened her mouth to reply when her mobile phone rang. "Hold on," she said to Bill, when she saw Tara's number flash on the screen. "Hello?"

"Hey Sook!" Tara exclaimed. "Are you back in town?"

"Just got through the door," Sookie said, then slipped out of the foyer into her office and shut the door behind her. She couldn't handle looking at Bill right now.

"Congratulations, girl!" Tara said. "I knew you could do it."

"Thanks Tara," Sookie said, slumping down in her chair and turning on her laptop to check her email. "I still can't believe it. It's a bit surreal."

"I can only imagine. Hoyt was glued to the TV watching the match. He was so proud of you. We all were."

Sookie smiled at the mention of Hoyt's name. "How is my favorite Godson? I can't believe I missed his birthday party!"

"He'll forgive you this once," Tara said with a laugh. "It's too bad that Bill couldn't make it, though he did drop off your present before the party started. Hoyt really liked the Tonka truck you got him."

Sookie furrowed her brows. Bill hadn't mentioned that he didn't go to the birthday party, and a Tonka truck wasn't exactly what they discussed him buying for Hoyt.

"I'm glad to hear that," she started as she opened Outlook. "Hey, can I call you back? I just walked through the door and need to straighten some things out."

"Not a problem. Just wanted to give you our love. We'll see you at the launch party for WOTD next week?"

"Of course!" Sookie said her goodbyes and set her phone down, turning her attention to the computer screen in front of her. She had received sixty emails since she'd taken off from London, most of which had "Congratulations" in the subject line. There was one there from Eric, which she chose to ignore until later. She wasn't quite yet ready to face him this early after that picture came out. She skimmed the rest of the emails and clicked on two - one from Mr. Cataliades' firm and one from Amelia. It took her thirty seconds to read the messages, and fifteen minutes to figure out what to do about them.

When she had sorted herself out, she stood slowly from the desk and walked into the TV room, where Bill sat watching some mindless music videos.

"Bill," she started tentatively. He didn't respond. "Bill," she repeated louder.

He looked over his shoulder and paused the TV. "Did you change your mind, Sookie?" he asked, patting the cushion next to him.

"What?" she asked.

"Did you change your mind about going to bed? Did you want to show me how much you missed me instead?"

"Um," she started, slowly advancing on him. "Not especially."

His smile turned into a scowl. "What then?"

"How was Hoyt's party?" she asked. She knew she was setting up a trap, but couldn't help herself. After what she'd read from Mr. Cataliades and Amelia, she wasn't sure what to believe.

Bill's eyes opened wide with panic; it was barely noticeable, and Sookie doubted she would have seen it if she wasn't looking for it.

"It was fine," he said. "You know how those five year old birthday parties go."

"Mmm," Sookie said, feeling the anger course through her veins. "Did he like his gift?"

"Uh…" Bill trailed off. "I think so. You know, it's so hard to tell at that age."

Sookie rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips. "What five year old wouldn't love a gift from Dr. 90210?"

Bill's mouth opened and closed like a fish's. "Um…"

"Um, what, Bill?"

Getting over the initial shock of the confrontation quickly, Bill went on the defensive. "I don't know what you mean."

"Don't play stupid Bill. I got my statement from Mr. Cataliades. Ten thousand dollars to a plastic surgeon? Did you think I wouldn't notice?"

"Baby," he said, standing up and walking towards her with his hands stretched out.

"Don't you dare 'baby' me, Bill. I gave you access to the account to buy a present for Hoyt, and you went out and got plastic surgery?"

"It's just lipo," Bill said defensively. "I wanted to look good for your launch party."

"And you thought I wouldn't notice $10,000 missing?"

"Baby, you've got enough money. What's $10,000?"

"It's not about the money, Bill!" Though, in part, it was. "It's about me being able to trust you. You don't talk to me for six days; can't even be bothered to call me when I win freaking Wimbledon, and I come home to find you moody and then find out you're stealing from me?"

"It's not stealing," Bill said defiantly. "You buy me things all the time."

"My mistake," Sookie said sarcastically. "I guess I should just sit back and accept that you're using my bank account."

"Just like I should sit back and accept that you're running around behind my back with that Northman asshole?"

"He's not an asshole," Sookie ground out. "And I didn't do anything, though God knows I should have."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I also got an email from Amelia," Sookie said, quirking her lips up in a sarcastic smile. "Well, a forward really, from her friend Claudine."

Bill's eyes opened wide.

"Yes," Sookie said, not giving him a chance to talk. "_That_ Claudine. It appears you had quite a good time at Lorena's party."

"It's not what you think," Bill said, stepping closer and grabbing her hands.

"You dare confront me about a paparazzi picture taken on the street, when you had the balls to fuck an underwear model behind my back?"

Bill gazed at her for a moment, then scowled. "What am I supposed to do? We haven't had sex in three weeks."

Sookie closed her eyes and counted to ten. "Get out," she said, between clenched teeth.

"What?"

"I said," Sookie responded, opening her eyes. "Get out."

"And do what?"

"I don't give a damn what you do," she said, marching over to the front door and jerking it open. "Just get the hell out."

"What about the launch party?"

"What about it?" Sookie asked.

"We're supposed to go together."

Sookie laughed sardonically. "Sorry, Barbie, plans have changed."

And with that, she pushed him out the front door and slammed it shut behind him, securing the deadbolt before slinking down to a heap on the floor.

…

Twelve hours of sleep and a good cry later, Sookie felt like a different person, like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She brushed off the news that Bill had gone to US Weekly to sell the story of their breakup with the help of Amelia and her famous margarita mix, and found herself standing on a stage at a podium in front of a large crowd next to Pam and Eric before she knew it.

She looked out across the crowd and saw Bill standing in the corner with a scowl on his face. As much as she hated seeing him, it wasn't as if she could ban the photographer from attending the launch of the campaign he had shot. She did her best to avoid his gaze as the oversized picture of her was unveiled, instead smiling blindly into the crowd.

"Everything okay?" Eric asked as soon as the presentation was over.

"What?" she asked, looking up into his smiling blue eyes for the first time that evening.

"You look like you're ready to bite someone's head off," he said, with a chuckle. "Hopefully not mine?"

"No," she shook her head. "Of course not yours. I just… wasn't expecting to see Bill here."

His brows furrowed. "Why not? Didn't you come together?"

Sookie shook her head. Apparently Eric hadn't heard the news. "We, um…" she started, fully aware that the press was surrounding them. "We aren't dating anymore."

The smile that crossed Eric's face could only be described as gleeful. "Oh really?"

"Really," Sookie nodded.

"I'm sorry to hear that." Only, he didn't sound sorry at all.

"Yes, well, needless to say this is a bit awkward having him here."

"I can only imagine," Eric said, reaching out to take her hand and tuck it in his arm. "If it makes you feel better, you can stick by my side for the rest of the night. There's no way he'll come anywhere near you if I'm here."

And that's exactly what she did.

…

Bill's plans to exploit their breakup backfired when a bigger news story that came out the same week, thanks to Felicia Busta. Turns out she decided to come out of the woodwork with her new baby, and the story of Bill's heartbreaking betrayal thanks to some prodding from the woman whom Sookie was beginning to think of as her fairy godmother, Claudine Crane. The tabloids had turned on Bill without batting an eyelash, and Sookie couldn't help but revel in the demise of the media darling.

"Serves that asshole right," Amelia said, tossing the magazine across Sookie's kitchen counter. "I knew he was no good for you. Fucking gold digging whore."

Sookie smiled at Amelia's description and shook her head. "What can I say?" she asked with a shrug. "I was blinded by his charm, and he was blinded by my eight figure contract."

"Mmm," Amelia said, scrunching her nose in disgust. "Well, I for one am glad you're done with that asshole and have moved onto much better pastures. When is Eric coming over, by the way?"

Sookie laughed and shook her head. "I haven't moved onto those pastures, Amelia, despite what you think."

"Why not?" Amelia asked, leaning her elbows on the counter. "He's hot, he's intelligent, and he obviously likes you. Plus, he's got more money than you, so he isn't trying to sleep with you for your bank account."

"He doesn't 'obviously' like me," Sookie said, though she felt herself blush. She and Eric had been spending some time together lately, but strictly for business; or, well, mostly for business at least. But he hadn't tried to make a move towards anything beyond platonic friendship.

"Pfft," Amelia said with a roll of her eyes. "You are so blind when it comes to men. He likes you. Pam told me herself. You just broke up with that gold digger; he's not going to try anything unless you give him the go ahead, which makes him one of the good guys."

"I'm not ready to date anyone, Amelia," Sookie said. And she wasn't. Despite enjoying the time she spent with Eric, she wasn't prepared to move onto the next man. She had enough to focus on without throwing a relationship into the mix.

…

Over the next few months, Eric made a point to see Sookie every time he was in LA, and always showed up for at least one match she played in every major tournament. The comfort that she'd felt with him that first night in London, and again at the launch party had grown into a friendship, the likes of which she couldn't remember ever having before in her life.

She flew down to Melbourne a week before the Australian Open with Coach Norris, and was surprised when she walked into the lobby of her hotel and saw a tall, familiar figure standing near the check-in desk.

"Eric?" she asked, smiling when the man turned around to greet her.

"Sookie," he said, a smile that matched her own crossing his face.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, setting her carryon bag down on the floor by her feet.

"I was in Sydney on business last week and thought I'd surprise you," he said, reaching out absently to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

She closed her eyes and tried to stop herself from leaning into his hand.

"Sorry," he said, grinning sheepishly. "I shouldn't have done that."

"It's okay," she said, with a smile. "What a nice surprise," she added, with a nod in his direction. "I feel like I haven't seen you in forever."

"Funny how work gets in the way, eh?" he asked, with a shrug of his shoulders. "I was hoping you'd be free for dinner tonight? There's some unfinished business I want to go over with you."

She frowned slightly, wondering what he possibly could need to talk to her about. She'd just had a meeting with Pam and Clancy the week before. And, if she were being honest with herself, she was a bit disappointed that he'd only come for business. If she were being really honest, she'd admit that her feelings for Eric had grown beyond business and platonic months ago, not that she'd done anything about it.

She looked back at her coach quickly before turning back to face Eric. "I think I can arrange that."

"Good," he said, then ran an oversized hand through his too-long hair. It was something she'd noticed he did when he was nervous, but there was no reason that he'd be nervous about their meeting, was there? Before she had time to ponder, he continued. "Meet me downstairs at seven."

…

Sookie dressed carefully for dinner, chastising herself for being nervous over the prospect of going out to dinner with Eric. He'd acted so anxious when he'd brushed a goodbye kiss across her cheek, and had actually stumbled over his feet when he turned around to head towards the elevator without looking away from her.

_He was in the country anyway, _she reminded herself. It wasn't as if he'd flown to Australia just to see her after all, but that didn't stop her overactive imagination from hoping he was here for an entirely different reason.

Sookie spotted Eric immediately when the elevator doors opened to the lobby. He looked handsome standing there in his chocolate brown suit, and the smile that crossed his face when he saw her did funny things to her stomach.

_This is not a date, Stackhouse_, she reminded herself.

"You look beautiful," Eric said, stepping towards her and brushing a kiss across her cheek.

"Thank you," she said, smiling when his lips lingered near her ear. "So do you. Handsome, that is," she added with a laugh.

It wasn't the first dinner they had gone to alone; it wasn't even the twentieth dinner they'd gone to alone, but she certainly had the nerves of a first time when she sat across the candlelit table from Eric. There was something more intimate about their meal, their conversation. It felt, Sookie thought, almost like a date, as ridiculous as that sounded.

Sookie thought she may have been imagining things when Eric slipped quickly into the friendly conversation they always had – they talked about Sookie's upcoming matches, changes at WOTD, and what had been happening in their life since they'd last seen each other. There was nothing abnormal about it, but Sookie couldn't shake the feeling that something was different.

They finished their meal, with Eric picking up the ticket – something he always insisted on doing – and climbed back into Eric's rental car to return to the hotel. They drove in companionable silence, which wasn't broken until they were in the elevator.

"What floor?" she asked, pressing the eighth floor button for herself.

"Twelfth," he responded.

"Sookie," Eric asked tentatively after Sookie had pressed the button for the twelfth floor.

"Eric?" she replied, with a smile.

"I, uh…" he said, raking a hand through his hair.

She looked at him curiously as the elevator doors shut. That was the second time he'd done his nervous tick. "Is everything okay, Eric?"

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Her brows lowered in concern and confusion as she watched him. She thought she heard him mumble 'fuck it' under his breath, and the next thing she knew, his hands were on her, pulling her face to his.

She was being kissed by Eric Northman. In an elevator.

She felt her knees give out as he wove one hand into the hair at the nape of her neck, and used the other one to grip her hip and pull her closer.

"I've wanted to do this for so long," he murmured against her lips, then deepened the kiss.

She heard a moan, and only barely registered that it was her own, so enraptured was she in his kiss. She had kissed plenty of men in her life, but never had it felt like this. She was lightheaded and full of energy, all at once. She reached out to steady herself, twining her arms around his neck. She didn't want to think about the implications of their actions, not when it felt so right.

She heard a ding somewhere in the distance, but ignored it as his hands traveled the length of her spine, and let out a whimper when he pulled away.

"Eric," she panted breathlessly, her eyes fully of the unasked question.

"I think we missed your floor," he said, nodding his head towards the now open door of the elevator. "This is mine."

She looked out into the empty hallway of an unfamiliar floor. "Oh," she said, loosening her grip on his shoulders to run an unsteady hand through her hair.

He chuckled, and reached down to grab her hand. "You could always come to my room for a nightcap," he suggested.

The doors began to close again, and she stuck her foot in the sensor to have it reopen.

"That sounds like a good idea," she said, taking a step forward into the hallway and looking back over her shoulder at him. He looked downright adorable, his hair mussed from her roving hands. She tugged at his arm to pull him out of the elevator. And when he was standing in front of her, looking down at her with hunger in his eyes, she continued, ""It appears we do indeed have some business to take care of after all."


End file.
